· Name: Nostromo (Sparkie) Aura
· Age: 22
· Date of Birth: October 28th
· Zodiac Sign: Scorpio
· Gender: Male
· Race: Rurian: This race of nomads survived the destruction of their original homeworld almost two-hundred years ago. Since that time they have prided themselves in becoming one of the most space faring and adept races in the galaxy; holding perhaps the most contracts for ship design and construction well up to the cataclysmic events. However much of what culture the Rurian's had been destroyed due to war and internal-conflicts even among the former members of the so called "council". Rurian's are warriors by nature and survivors by style. With a long running history, their bodies are often seen adorned with the runes of their culture. What not so many may know is that these very markings define the Rurian's natural ability to sustain longer in adverse and inhospitable conditions where extremes of temperature, oxygen, and gravity might overcome others easily.
· Occupation: Pilot, Helms Man, Bounty Hunter
· Eyes: As Blue As The Numriel Sea
· Hair: White, Bangs In The Front With A Long Style In The Back
· Height: 5'8"
· Weight: 135 lbs
· Build: Light, athletic
· Strengths: Nostromo knows his strengths well, yet never makes real light of them. He fights with the same beam blades that had kept his father alive for so long, and now seemed to have done the same for him time and time again. He is not a very physicially strong fighter, but his speed makes more than up for it, and he can be somewhat of a tough guy in any case. If that lend to his race or the fact he never gives up remains to be seen.
· Weaknesses: Nostromo might not be able to hold much of a candle to the extreme and excessive forces some of the other members of the team could be able of rendering, but perhaps that is why he is more keen to keep steel and rockets beneath his feet and at the command of his fingertips. He might be a fast and fierce close combat warrior, but it would only be sooner or later that he was to face true opponents.
· Weapon of Choice: Ionic Dual Wielding Beam Blades
· Armor Type: Rurian Custom Build Exospheric Combat Suit (Stripped Down)
· Powers: Supestia - The Rurian Trait Of Resilience. Where other races might instantly die in the vacuum of space, the Rurian's have an innate ability to survive at times up to 15 minutes on a single breath due to the seal their internal chemistry can come up with, allowing them to reduce their oxygen needs and survive longer. Another aspect is the ability to withstand extreme temperatures due to the very same processes. But may be truly remarkable, and the aspect of a Rurian's abilities that make them fantastic pilots is that the are actively able to reduce or increase the blood pressure between their two hearts, which allow them to withstand even the worst of G-forces.
· Personality: Nostromo is a soul with a quick smile and a mind of his own. He seems to take everything with an almost unusual amount of ease, allowing him to calmly handle a lot of nerve wracking situations. Yet at times he can also be absolutely drawn to a severely focused poker face, breaking with his usually passive demeanor and even making quite serious decisions. This makes him a very dynamic and complicated character, who at first seems like the most stable of any.
· Biography: Nostromo looked up into his fathers eyes the day he held him for the last time. Barely 10, he still thinks about it to this day what his father might have meant with those last words, "Remember that sometimes the lights don't matter".
It was the time of unrest that would lead to a conflict that Nostromo would become shaped by. But it was the war in the sky between the Rurian's and the invaders that sparked the deepest scars into the boys heart, thinking about the night he rushed from the hovel into the freezing tundra as the disturbing lights grew sharper and louder. Little did he know that thousands of feet above, his father was making his last stand against the invaders. The boy saw the surging lights suddenly grow frightening large until he realized the most brightly light of the lights bore the signals of his fathers plane, turning and twisting against the invaders as he fought them off from his home. His fathers plane turned to block the assault of another incoming squadron of invaders, taking the full brunt of the attack until the was nothing left of him. Nostromo screamed for his mother, trying to rush inside to safe her from the burning hut, but there was only so much the little boy could do, and as it happened so fast, he could only watch the house and his mother inside meeting the same fate.
Nostromo's story from them on does not seem to be any different from that of other orphans who had been displaced since the great cosmic incident. A child displaced to one of the great interstellar orphanage vessels that rode half away across the galaxy, the kind of ship that children seen one day would be handed off in new families the next.
It all happened after the great fall of the Rurian's most trusted of home planets. After the death of his parents..
Soon it would be the boys fateful day. A call had come up from one of the distant outposts on the southern portion of the Dyseum ring planets, a mining colony that fostered a host of world ships famous for the invention of the genesis conversion and neo-synthesized ecosystems.
However, the ships voyage would soon be cut short as it passed too close to the border of unknown space crime groups, who soon converged to seek a hijack of the vessel and possible random from its galactic fleet.
With a quick shot against the orphan ships bow, it soon drove into dead motion, becoming the sitting price for a multitude of pirate groups that fought fiercely for control of the ship.
It was not no surprise that every escape pod that rushed from the large vessel was shot down in the ensuing battle outside, leaving only a single one shot simultaneously alongside a multitude of others still intact to move to an unknown destination.
What the child inside did not know, was that his destination would take him into a free fall unto a desert like planet, ruled by a noble group of select elite outlaws, who only so ever brushed up with governance's as to stay below radar. A group of warriors feared enough as to remain mostly untouched, and skilled enough to keep every single one of their targets from ever being heard of again.
They where the Yunra, the warriors who took in the child from that escape pod, and chose to raise him as their own when he managed to survive a lethal dust storm and wander into their outpost.
It would be good fortune that would see a Rurian child fall into the hands of Rurian outcasts. Even if these wayward bandits had left their own kind behind, accusing them of all the atrocities their weapons and ships committed.
They named him Nostromo, after the star from which he seemed to have fallen.
That star now hung like a distant jewel in a flaming sea.
Nostromo sat there thinking about his past as everything around him went up in flames yet again. This time the mothership of the headfleet as he watched people left and right scramble to the escape pods and shuttles, leaving nothing else except his formitable Angry Bird fighter sitting in the crumbling hangar. A man fought his way through the rubble of a nearby access elevator, breaking debris and fighting off the invading hordes that pursued him unforgivingly. "Care to give me a lift kid? I'll buy you a brand new chair if you do!" the man shouted, dodging a few blasts at the same time, "Umm.. Well, it kinda is a family heirloom..You see my family was.." the Nostromo tried to explain the usual ease, but when seeing the last stable leg of his chair being blasted from his rear, and said rear promptly landing on the ramp, he considered the offer a little more carefully, "You got it chief!"
Needless to say, he still has yet to see that promised chair.. In the meantime he is Alastors trusted interstellar choffer..?
· Likes: Old Books, His Chair (A little more fixed -
), Thrill and Excitement, Impossible Scenarios And Odds, Exotic Foods, Striking Up Conversations
· Dislikes: Death, The Innocent Hurt, Having Himself Or His People Accused Or Called Evil, Being Ignored
· Sexuality: Heterosexual
